When Dreaming Ends
by Goudess
Summary: As Rin nears the final chapter of her quest, a young boy who's life she had shattered in her search for vengeace surfaces to extract his own revenge. Meanwhile, the Itto-Ryu faces great danger, and Anotsu's life lies in the hands of a pair of old allies..
1. The Mask-maker's Son

**Gawd, does the formatting on this thing seem evil to anyone else? O.o****

**A/N: **Here it is, my first potentially full-length (*crosses fingers!*) Blade of the Immortal fan fiction. I'm fully aware that a lot of you are going to shy away from the obvious lack of your favorites... Manji, Rin, Anotsu... but when planning this thing out (my first idea actually revolved around Makie, but she seems to already be a pretty popular and well-written-for character in the fan-fiction world) I had thought about a storyline that revolved around Kawakami Renzo, the son of the Itto-Ryu mask maker. After all, what happened to the poor guy? If there is one character deserving and just dripping with opportunity, it's Renzo. Didn't you all just _adore_ On Silent Wings? Awk. Gorgeous. Hence, the spotlight shifted to Renzo and his adventures in the Blade of the Immortal world.

Do not fear, however -- I hope to entwine all of your favorites into the story (Manji and Rin will show up by the next chapter, I hope), especially if it does end up being the long piece that I'd like it to be. And, because I'm planning on a longer piece... I apologize if it seems slow! I almost hate cramming rushed information more than I do drawing it out... hopefully someday I'll find a balance. ^_^ This introductory chapter seems somewhat sluggish and angsty (I tried to keep it short!), but I guarantee quite a bit of action and good-old-fashion moral-testing...Samura-style, of course... in the long run.

Yeah. So... Manji and Rin, quite a bit of Anotsu (of course!) and **Makie** and** Magatsu** are both going to play a huge part in this story. ^_^ So have no fear, fan-boys-and-girls.

And, as always, please do review if you're willing. ^_^ I love critique, it helps me become a better writer.

**Spoilers**: Right now, the only spoiler and recommended reading is _On Silent Wings_. (Two graphic novels, Issues 19-28) There will most certainly be more, especially come the next chapter. Like mentioned, it would be useful to the reader to be familiar with that part of the story, but I don't think that it's completely necessary. The fan-fiction could probably still stand without it. =P Anywhoo, I'm taking up lots of space here. Enjoy!

_"Another hero, another mindless crime   
Behind the curtain, in the pantomime   
On and on, does anybody know what we are living for?_

_--_from _Moulin Rouge_

"When Dreaming Ends"

Part One -- The Mask-maker's Son

The sun lumbered up lazily over Edo. Light snaked down the streets and alleyways and splashed onto the shutters of storefronts with a dew-glittered residue. Beds stirred, young girls swept out the fronts of teashops, and the rich smells of food began wafting lazily into the air. Soon, those vacant streets began to trickle with life, like bountiful plants springing up from a barren surface.

The Kawakami household remained closed and dark. It carried the dust of a night untouched, and the aging rice-paper panels of the _shoji_ reflected the sorry state that the apartment was falling into. Inside, it was worse. The bedding had not been cleaned in weeks, and they remained sprawled on the floor in a mess that the sleeper would have to interpret before using. 

All of the masks were gone.

Kawakami Renzo had never forgotten, however. And, most shamefully, it would have been a lie to say that he hadn't tried. He did. He quickly sold every mask that his father had made before his untimely death. The bloodstained wall-panel had been peeled away in order to expose the dreary and monotone space beneath it. There was a thick hole where the daggers had pierced the wall, and a smaller bloodstain that Renzo had spent six tear-burning and hyperventilating hours scrubbing at.

It never went away. Yes, it came closer, but there was still an ugly brown stain that Renzo could easily see if he looked for it. And he always did. 

The boy bought himself food when he was hungry. He rarely was, and the rest of his money disappeared by other means -- he simply lost interest and forgot where it had been. Renzo, frankly, didn't care.

That beautiful morning opened on him where he had been for a good portion of the night -- his father's grave. The enormous mask had been sitting in that upstairs bedroom where his father had been murdered, and out of desperation for some marker--as he could not afford a real one--Renzo had brought it down and placed it upright into the ground over his father's final resting place.

It looked like a bright spirit peeking up from behind a wall, the way the face was half-buried in the ground. The original mask had seemed much more innocent, a sleeping and dainty ghost, perhaps... but now, with everything else but the eyes and the sloping lines upon its forehead hidden...

It looked so sad. So very, very sad.

"Good morning, Father." Renzo said. He knew that his father was not listening. He was not certain how, but that empty feeling that had been inside him ever since the murder had never once filled. Sitting by Araya's grave never changed this. Making offerings and lighting joss sticks never changed this. Prayers never changed this. 

Looking down into that bastard's unmarked grave never changed this.

Kawakami Araya was dead. He had fallen into the category that a stone would, a handful of dirt. Renzo knew that everything had a spirit, but a rock never did much to tell him that. Neither did his dead father. 

Could Araya be at peace, when Renzo felt so disarrayed? Knowing that he had killed his father's murderer should have calmed him. Araya had been avenged. Why else would the ghost be so restful...?

...So unresponsive?

Renzo lit a joss stick and placed it reverently upright into the ground before the grave. Sweet-smelling smoke wafted up and tore into his open eyes like fishbone-thin claws, but he never once flinched or closed them against the irritation. 

Asano Rin had left a lily before the grave when she had last visited it. That had felt so very long ago. And, by looking at the rotting mass of vegetation that hung over the lip of its holder, it must have been quite some time. Renzo felt somewhat dirty and strange when he finally scooped it out and cleaned out the holder... he always felt strange, when thinking about the girl who had helped him so very long ago.

_Renzo, do you love your father?_

Her words rang in his head, and the chord was off-key and sharp. Although his face remained placid, Renzo's innards twitched, right by his left ear. The image of his father's corpse was clear in his mind, and the mocking face of his murderer... but everything else but that seemed blurred, especially Rin's face. Even when he tried, he could not conjure up any specific feature when he played that tragic scene back in his head... and he did that quite often.

_Do you love your father?_

And Renzo, embarrassed by the question and the fact that Araya was right there in the room with them, hadn't given a straight answer. How was he to know that this had been his last chance?

It made him so angry.

The terrible thing was that Renzo was unable to say it even now. He tried, and he felt it... but when he looked down at that dark and mournful mask he was unable to formulate the words. His lips got clammy, that empty space inside him clamped up and hardened his heart... and his jaw would not budge.

After all, he was just talking to a grave. He didn't give a damn about the grave.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Renzo said stiffly. His voice sounded loud and intrusive in the quiet setting. And, with a push of his fingertips he eased himself to his feet and brushed off his dirty and tattered kimono. The boy had gotten a little too gangly for it, his malnourished frame moving too quickly into manhood as his childish roundness was scraped harshly away -- the garment hung open on his bony chest. He adjusted it, felt it fall open, and gave up on it as he usually did. 

And, barefoot and tired-shouldered, the shaggy-haired youth started back towards the building where he lived. He kept his pace slow. After what had happened, he often times dreaded stepping through those doors. He had trouble calling the place home, now.

-           -           -

"But this is my home!" Renzo cried.

They were standing in the entryway. Renzo had been shocked to see a pair of sandals lying on the stepping-stone, and a man waiting firmly just a few paces away from him. Wary, he entered the building and was immediately hit with a rude and informal demand for him to pack up and leave. 

His broad-shouldered landlord crossed his arms firmly over his chest and looked down at Renzo from over his nose. The boy glared defiantly up at him. This was infuriating, and the man felt the muscles of his arms twitch under his hold. He remained stony however, letting his good-nature be eaten by the boy's insolence as opposed to his temper.

"It _was_ your home," He replied. "Your last payment ran up."

"I told you," Renzo retorted. "My father's account--"

"--Is bone-dry." The man finished flatly.

Renzo mentally calculated the time that had passed since Araya's death, and felt his heart snare with painful realization. With that came a flaring surge of panic. "No! No, no! You can't throw me out! This is my home; this is my father's home... I'll find some money; I'll find a way! You can't do this to me!"

"That's another problem," The landlord said. "I'm sorry about what happened, but you're just a kid--"

"I'm not!" Renzo cried.

"--And you can't handle affording a place like this." The landlord continued. "I suggest you find some family to stay with -- certainly you've an uncle or something that will be willing to house you for a while." 

"But I--Listen, I... Give me a week, I'll find enough to pay for at least this term. I promise, I can do it! I have a little bit of money hidden somewhere, it'll be enough to--"

"That's not the problem, kid. I'm not talking about a new payment." The man tiredly scratched at the inside corner of one eye, just below his brow. The pause was uncomfortably long, and he could feel the boy's eyes flaring intensely at him without even having to look. Nonchalant, almost pointedly so, he lowered his hand and continued. "This is a long-term arrangement, and there's no way that a boy your age can pull it off. It's absurd. I've stayed quiet so far, in respect for your father, but... Business is business."

"Just one, one week--" Renzo started.

"I'll give you a week to find another place to stay. That is the limit to my leniency."

The boy fell quiet at this. His jaw was firm, his glare sharp enough to be a slicing blow. His father's landlord seemed oblivious to this response, however, and simply nodded his head in one-sided agreement. Renzo didn't even glimmer an acknowledgement when the man casually stepped back into his sandals and retreated from the shady sanctuary of his father's house. 

Renzo, a shaky pillar, clenched his fists at his sides.

He blamed his tears on the incense that he had burned earlier. 

After all, many things take a long time to surface.  

**Glossary/Cultural Notes: **

_Shoji-_ sliding panel doors

_Joss sticks_ - incense, essentially


	2. The Circle of Revenge

**Spoilers: **On Silent Wings, and there is one element of The Gathering that I make reference to during the end of the section. That won't really be so much of a spoiler until Chapter Three, however. That's when the facts will start face-slapping, methinks. =P "Say, Manji... when people hate 

_is this how it has to be? Doesn't_

_it ever stop until someone's dead...?"_

_"Ya dumb kid. It doesn't end even _

when_ someone dies... Not really."_

_--_Rin and Manji, _On Silent Wings II_

"When Dreaming Ends"

Part Two -- The Circle of Revenge

"And here..." The wiry old man lifted a sword from its holder with trembling hands. Renzo watched him do this with some degree of surprise -- one would think that a sword polisher would be a whole lot steadier. This was no small job, what the man called Kageyama did. It was an art, something delicate and beautiful that was not the same for any two weapons.

"They are not of great value, but here..." He pulled the blade from its sheath delicately, exposing only a short fraction below the hilt. "...Is the quality of my workmanship. Look there, at this grain..." Renzo tried to look like he knew what the man was talking about. He hadn't a clue -- this sword didn't look any different from the rest that were scattered about the small storage room. Metal and lacquer, that was all that he could really see. But the old man did not have to know this.

Two days had passed. Renzo had combed Edo for a place to restart his life, albeit temporarily. He was too weak to carry carts, too young to sell higher-quality wares and too old to sell things of lower-quality. The potter would not take him in because he didn't have enough potential, and weavers thought him too clumsy. 

On the first night, Renzo had tried desperately to make a mask. His father's name was relatively well-known, and perhaps, with luck...

...Someone would buy the trash that came from Renzo's hands. The boy could not mold, he could not cut smooth holes, and his painted designs were off-balance and unattractive. It was hurtful, realizing that his father's talents had died with him. Why couldn't Renzo have inherited _some_ useful skill from Araya?

The sword polisher was getting old, and he had no apprentice or help. Renzo was surprised to have been accepted; although old Kageyama told him that he was only an errand-boy at his point... he could keep an eye on things, and perhaps if he picked up enough from observation Kageyama could start him on one of the old swords in the back. Perhaps. There were no guarantees.

That was the room that they stood in. Next-door was the sleeping area. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Renzo did not sleep in an empty room. The nights were chilly, and the old man was in great need of a younger body to keep his bones warm. There, in the dark, with an ancient heartbeat thudding against his skin, Renzo slept better than he had thought he would.

It felt so good to have gotten out of that house of ghosts. It made Renzo guilty to feel this way, but he felt it all the same. He was glad to not have to stare at the walls of that empty room at night... to feel his eyes seek out that persistent blood-stain and stare at it until fatigue tore him out of his misery and into a fitful sleep.

Old Kageyama returned the sword to its niche, and then tiredly rubbed at his back and slid his watery brown eyes off toward the front of the shop with a fatigued little upward-and-sideways circle. "It may seem slow at times, but you'll get to appreciate it, boy, as long as it doesn't stop completely."

"After all," he continued with an elastic little grin. "A dirty blade usually means a couple of corpses!"

-           -           -

Renzo frowned idly to himself and swung the narrow tree branch out with a lazy little flick of his wrist. It was late afternoon, and he had slipped out of the back of the shop while old Kageyama dozed out by the foyer in the warm sunshine. 

His feet were tiredly a short distance apart, as if he were a bored child playing with a sparkler. Back the branch went, forth, and then back again. 

_"This is dumb, Dad."_

_Araya's thin mouth lifted up on both sides, and his eyes narrowed warmly with his smile. It was odd, how the man could look so loving and stern at the same time. There was a practiced, controlled grace about him as he eased into his low eye-to-eye crouch. A _tengu_ mask was pushed up on the top of his head, Renzo could see the long beak rise up like a white horn against the festival lanterns that hung in the street all around them. The sound of drums sang in the air, mingling with children's laughter. So much gaiety..._

_"C'mon, Renzo," Araya said in his measured tenor. He took Renzo's wrist in his strong hand and held it there, before taking a small blazing strip of kindling to the paper tip of the firework that was clenched in the boy's small fist. It flared, and then burst into a small fountain of sparks._

_"Only little kids use these things!" Renzo cried._

_That tiny, narrow smile widened slightly on one corner. "Well," He replied slowly, before blowing out his kindling with a tight little puff. He released the boy's arm and set his elegant hand atop of Renzo's head. With a ruffle of his hair, he quipped, "Last time I checked..."_

_"Daaaad," Renzo whined. "You're embarrassing me."_

_Araya set his hands on his hips and playfully cocked an eyebrow at his son. "You're complaining now," He said. "But I'm willing to be my life that someday you'll look back and wish that you could do stuff like this again."_

Renzo realized that his eyes were wet. When he tried to blink it away, he saw that he was no longer at the festival outside his house all of those...months ago? Years? He was behind the sword polisher's shop, and his limp arm was carrying a thin old branch wearily at his side.

He lifted a wrist and ran it messily across his nose. Swallowing back his anger and misery enough to control himself, he adjusted the rock in his throat enough to breathe through it, and looked down at the branch in his hand again.

That bastard's looming, smug face swam before his vision. He remembered that scar, that ugly disfiguring scar that ran down his eye... the sight of his good one glittering with cold amusement. Renzo was just a kid to him...A worthless, weak, pathetic little child. 

He'd shown him. 

Renzo's knuckles felt as if they would pop. He clenched the branch, set his teeth, and swung it around with a tight and double-fisted underhand swing. Letting out a hissing and energy-filled cry, he let the air split around him. Something felt good about it, something primal... the way that his feet locked into the ground as if every cell had merged with the earth, the feeling of his rage rising up and rumbling in his throat, the elastic tightness of his arms and sides, the feeling of the branch slicing through the air like ripping gossamer.

"Ahem."

Renzo jumped, and the branch cluttered dully onto the ground at his feet. Whirring, he found himself staring up at a stony man in a neat kimono. A blade was tucked nicely into his sash, and his chin was high in a way that screamed confidence. He was about six yards away, and stood in a way that seemed to make Renzo feel trapped. Swallowing back warily, Renzo shifted back a fraction.

"I...I-'m sorry." He said. "I didn't see you--"

"That's unfortunate. A training swordsman should be more aware of his surroundings." There was something dark about his voice, something that made Renzo squirm. Contempt.

"I, heh..." Renzo tried to lift a smile. "I'm not... I was just..."

"Never?" The man asked. "Perhaps you should consider, then. You seem to have some natural ability. The way you move your wrists -- it takes some people a great deal practice to do that."

"I...Thanks?" If the man had meant to compliment him, he didn't show it. He spoke to Renzo, and then it was as if Renzo did not exist -- or was not worthy of it, at least.

"Inomura!" The man did not flinch, but Renzo spun to spy old Kageyama as he hobbled toward them, waving his hand as if he were trying to communicate over a great distance. Bowing profusely, he managed to say. "I am sorry, I had started to close up shop. I did not mean to force you to enter back here." As he was supposed to, Kageyama made it sound as if it were his fault for the error. Inomura understood, and he nodded his head vaguely at the man's bowing.

"I heard your boy out back." He said. Kageyama shot Renzo a wide-eyed look, something mixed between fear and fury, before bowing to Inomura once more. "I apologize! The boy doesn't know right from left, yet. I am sorry that he caused you so much trouble." And then, with a jerky snap of his head, he urged Renzo to head inside. Renzo, blanching, moved quickly ahead and went to slide open the door for the two men.

Inomura looked so strong and rigid against the old man. Kageyama did not stoop that much, his back was still straight, but he was still crooked in comparison to Inomura's starched way of moving. With a swish of his _hakama_ trousers, Inomura stepped out of his sandals and strode into the main room. Renzo immediately went to turn them around so that Inomura could simply step into him when exiting.

"Please, take a seat out front." Kageyama said, bowing in a way that was almost a cower. He looked oddly fearful of this imposing man, and Renzo silently flickered his eyes from one to another... curious. He said not a word, however, and kept his face placidly blank. And, at the moment Inomura turned his back, Kageyama whirred on Renzo and hissed.

"Bring a message to Iijima -- I will not have his weapons ready until the end of the week. Take your time, boy, and get yourself something to eat." Kageyama's calloused hand pressed a few coins into Renzo's palm, and then he gave the boy a little push toward the back door.

"But--" Renzo objected. He must have spoken too loudly, for Kageyama gave him another little spin and jerked him face-to-face, so that he could hiss in the ghost of a heated whisper, "Inomura is _very_ particular about how things are run. It would be best if you would just disappear for a while, understand?"

"But I thought that I was supposed to watch--"

"--And do what you're told!" Kageyama snapped. Renzo, a little dazed at this point, was practically shoved out the door and into his sandals. Skittering out across the ground outside, he looked over his shoulder with wide eyes. There was the glimmer of Kageyama's somewhat detached nod, and then a snap as the door was closed behind him.

"I have sent the boy for some better _sake_," Kageyama said as he eased himself back into Inomura's company and bowed extremely low again. "I fear that what I have is of extremely low quality, and apologize to have to serve--"  
"Cut the formalities," Inomura said. Kageyama's mouth twitched as the stiff man unlooped and removed his sheathed blade from his sash. Quickly, Kageyama knelt and laid down a square of white cloth on the mat in front of the man, and without even slowing in his movements despite this, Inomura set his sword down lengthwise atop of it. Kageyama took a moment to politely admire it, although he did not have to pretend. The sheath was plain, of less quality of most everything he had in the back... but the blade beneath was a work of art. Everyone knew that Inomura carried an almost priceless weapon. Kageyama, after that formal moment, set his palms down in order to bow again and stammer a,

"I am honored that you have chosen me for such an important task--"

"The last man did a poor job at it." Inomura interrupted. Something in his voice made Kageyama's innards draw up into cowering little knots. "There are a number of things that I expect you to fix. Let me assure you, if this weapon is in any way harmed or damaged, there will be great consequences. I will make sure of this. Do you understand? If not, I will take my business someplace else."

"Of course," Kageyama said. "My family has been in this work for generations. We have not dissatisfied a customer yet."  
"Hopefully," Inomura said with a sideways nod, "It will stay that way."  
_It will, it will, you tight-assed mongrel,_ Kageyama thought, as he sweetly set his forehead to the mats and offered his gracious thanks again.

-           -           -

Renzo brought the tiny cup of steaming broth up to his lips and idly shoveled some noodles into his mouth with a push of his chopsticks. His brown eyes shifted from side to side as he moved down and away from the already thinning crowd and back towards Kageyama's shop. Although part of him hated himself for it, it was not enough to stop him from feeling the barest glimmers of contentment. Warm food, the bustle of life, and something to do besides mope and mourn.

_I didn't even have time to make an offering at Dad's grave, _he thought with a mixture of anxiety and...Relief? It was a strange feeling, as if he had cleverly gotten out of a chore. Scolding himself, he vowed to spend a little more time praying when he went to visit his father the next day.

The sound of loud hammering broke him out of his thoughts, and he lifted his face out of his dinner in order to spy a young man who was struggling with something at the roadside. A hammer was in one hand, and four nails stuck out of his mouth like tiny tongues. Remembering that a festival would be rounding the corner soon -- there almost always was -- Renzo realized that the man must have been preparing a notice for some event. Feeling in better spirits than he had in a long time, he shifted his head and called out, a little hesitantly at first,

"Would you like some help?"  
The man looked surprise, and, after a moment of suspicious silence nodded his consent. Renzo didn't look much like a thief, and the man obviously didn't have anything of worth on him. Renzo set his cup on the ground, and knelt to hold the empty sign-post in place. After a few quiet moments, it was steady and upright.

"Mmnks," The man said from behind his nails. And then, after a bashful little grin, he pulled him out and said, "Thank you -- here, could you hold these?" Renzo took them idly and then took up his soup in his free hand, and watched through the dusk as the man turned and unrolled a sheet of paper and took the nails one-by-one in order to pounded the notice onto the sign.

Sipping at the broth and nudging his chopsticks out of his way with his nose, Renzo watched the man's back. As he took the last nail, the boy shifted off to one side in order to read over his shoulder and asked, "What's the event? Anything interesting?"

"It's not for a festival," The man said. "There are some murderers on the loose, they..." His voice slowed and trailed off, as he felt the boy's soup splash on his trouser-leg as the cup clattered soundlessly to the ground.

Renzo's eye twitched, and his heart clearly came to a halt in his chest. His lips went slack and tried to work out breath, but everything that tried to leave his mouth got caught and strangled, lingering like a mouthful of rotten food.

"Kid?" The man asked warily. "You okay?"

Renzo had dropped to his knees. He didn't notice the broth seeping up into his legs. He didn't notice the world around him. The man's question sounded distant and faded, like watermarks on white paper. His shoulders felt slack, and yet every bone seemed to have fused together and forced him upright, a wooden puppet hanging on its rack.

"...Kid?"

The world was gone, except for one thing -- staring at him was an image of two familiar faces drawn neatly on the wanted notice. That kimono, those girlish twin braids... and next to her, that smirk. That cold, scarred eye. Two criminals, two murderers...

One was the man who had killed his father. 

He was dead. He was supposed to be dead. Renzo had slain him. He had closed the circle of revenge.

And the other was the girl that had assured him that his father's killer was gone and buried. She was the one that had held him as he broke down and realized that Araya was really gone. This was the girl that he had trusted as a friend.

An accomplice.

A liar.

...A _murderer._


	3. A Single Step

_"The earth laughs beneath my heavy feet..."_

--The Smashing Pumpkins

When Dreaming Ends

Part Three -- A Single Step

Renzo's heart pounded, pounded, _pounded_... beat so hard that he felt it in his elbows, behind his knees, and in the thick of his mind. When he started to run, his jouncing paces had been to an off-beat, but as his emotion-choked throat constricted and stole his breath his heart moved to match the rhythm, and then surpassed it. Without that pulse, Renzo surely would have realized his fatigue and simply collapsed, but his mind latched onto his all-consuming heartbeat and followed it through the streets and alleyways of Edo, back the way he had ever-so-innocently come only a short while ago. His feet pounded on the hard-packed streets. Pounded.

...Pounded.

Everything had a pulse.

It hurt.

He didn't know what to do. It was as if someone had taken him by his feet and was shaking him upside down. All the blood rushed into his brain, stuffed it so tight that he couldn't remember who he was or where exactly he was going. All Renzo knew now was that everything that was white to him was now black. Nothing was as it had been before. 

He was angry. Renzo knew this. He was angry, anxious, and so filled with the lust for blood that he couldn't see straight. It was instinct that drove him, a scrolling shift of memory that opened for him to move along, a path that something in him felt, even though at this point Renzo could not see. 

And then he was home.

He didn't know how he had gotten there, but there he stood. The moon had risen, and in silhouette stood the tall apartment that had been his home since his mother had died. Renzo fell to a skittery halt with a painful twist of his innards and felt his shoulders jerk forward in aftershock. Heaving, he gazed at the building through sweat-misted eyes.

_Daddy._

Damn it.

_Damn_ it.

Renzo was already breathing heavily, but when the rage struck him he shifted into something more akin to hyperventilation. He was struck by a bout of violent trembling, and for a moment he thought that his rubbery muscles would collapse. He clutched for a hold, caught his balance on a lantern-post, and buckled over.

It must have been a while, for when he finally rose his head again his breath was slower and the sweaty locks of hair that had escaped from their tie had cooled in the night. Although the edges of his vision were still hazed, Renzo shuffled his feet and moved down the walk to the apartment's front door.

There was no security in rice paper panels, and Renzo had no trouble getting in. It was only a matter of sliding the door open. He stepped into the familiar entryway and felt his chest snag with dull melancholy. His feet eased tiredly out of his sandals, and he trudged up the quiet dark staircase.

The room where his father had died was empty. The landlord had taken everything that Renzo had left behind, there was no longer a mess on the floor. The _tatami_ looked clean, and the tattered _shoji_ panels had been replaced. The walls had all been scrubbed, but even in the dank moonlight Renzo could see the ugly brown bloodstain that no scrubbing could remove. The landlord would have to redo that portion of the wall in order to cover it. He probably would. 

And no one would ever have to know. No one would remember that a man had been murdered here. This room would belong to a happy, ignorant family. Perhaps another father and his son.

Renzo gripped his shoulder with a tight squeeze, as if causing himself pain would keep him from screaming. He stared at the wall with blank, almost dead-looking eyes, and felt every drop of moisture in his skin tighten up in a ball at the very center of his throat. It rose no higher -- he was too furious, too sad to cry.

After a moment he managed to move again, although he didn't do much more than drop to his knees. Feeling around the _tatami_, he found a corner and awkwardly pulled it back from the wooden floor beneath. It took a while to get the large mat off to one side, but the effort was calming. By the time he found what he was looking for underneath, he was dulled to the point of emotionless-ness.

His father had been a rather paranoid man. Renzo probably wasn't supposed to know, but Araya had cut a small portion of the floor out and kept some of what he thought to be important things inside. A few weeks after his death, Renzo had finally opened it and examined the contents in full view. There was nothing of great importance to him except for some money. Renzo had used most of it for food and provisions, and there was little left. He dug around and pulled the small purse out in order to set it off to one side, dappled in the geometric squares that the moonlight made through the _shoji._

However, Renzo had put something of his own into that small hiding place when his father had passed on. It was strange, how he was able to get rid of all of his father's masks, but had been unable to let go of the weapon that had killed him.

It was wrapped in a simple white cloth. Renzo had never seen a blade like this before, and found it primitive in shape. This was no sword. Rather, the blade was a triangular wedge with a sharp hook-like extension on one side. Sinister. It disgusted him to the point of physical nausea, and yet he heaved the weapon up--it was so heavy!--and out of the hole with a grunt and a heave. It met the floor with a loud _thud_, and Renzo stopped quickly to make sure that no one next door had heard. 

The air was silent, and then broken by the sound of a _shoji_ sliding back in its frame. Renzo quickly re-adjusted the wrapping around the blade, tied it tightly, and threw the entire package over his shoulder. With a quick motion he took hold of his purse, and he fled down the stairs with swift efficiency. 

By the time he was back into his sandals and on the street, he was set on the calm path of a man with a mission. Behind him, a tired man was looking curiously out his window, but Renzo did not look back. He simply kept on his way. The anger was still there, the burning and the sadness, but with that was a surge of dull resolve.

He would have his revenge. Asano Rin and her accomplice would die by his hand. 

This fact calmed him, if only for a little while. Renzo moved across Edo and stepped up into Kageyama the Sword-Polisher's shop as if he were just returning from an errand and not stalking off on a journey of vengeance in the late hours of the night. The small building was a silent and dank as a dead moth, and in his silence Renzo was nothing but a ripple at the edge of the surface. He left his burdens outside and slipped through the sliding doors without a sound.

Kageyama was lying on the floor in the corner, wrapped tightly in his bed-wrappings. He did not move, save for the heavy risings and falls of deep slumber, but Renzo could feel him as if the he were a beacon of light. The man was asleep for now, yes, but it would take work to keep it that way. He would have to hurry. With pointedly stealthy steps, Renzo moved into the tiny storage room and did not take his eyes away from the sleeping man until he had fully entered.

It was dark, yes, but Renzo's eyes had long since adjusted. The room was filled with sword stands. A few were Kageyama's, but most belonged to customers. Despite the cold, violent air that had settled in Renzo's lungs, the boy still felt a pang of guilt over what he was going to do, and with careful eyes he turned in a small circle and tried to find the least expensive looking weapon there.

Eventually, he stumbled onto something. Kageyama had a very ancient sword, something created by a great master whose name Renzo had forgotten out of disinterest. It took great talent to care for such an antique blade, and Kageyama kept it in order to show off his craft.

  
Beneath that sword, on the same rack, was a ratty old sheathed blade. Renzo did not know why Kageyama would pair such a great work of art with _this_, but did not care. The casing looked old and uncared for--and thus cheap. With a glance from side to side, Renzo moved in and knelt to silently remove it from the rack with both hands. He was afraid to make any noise in pulling the sheath back in order to check out the quality of the actual blade--what if it was in worse condition than the sheath itself?--but the fact that he was stealing from a man that had been so kind to him kept him in check. Renzo wouldn't allow himself to take a sword that was of high quality. This one would have to suffice. 

Renzo looked over one shoulder and took the sword in one hand. The sheath felt rough and ragged against his palm. Silently, he pulled a small square of paper from a stack nearby--they were used when touching the actual blades, as oils in the skin could damage them--and glanced around for a moment. Spotting a lantern, he dipped his smallest finger in the somewhat sooty oil and quickly sketched a few strokes onto the paper. It hardly showed, but the character was clear enough to be read -- a symbol for an apology. This was all that he could do.

Renzo paused in the doorway on his way out and gave Kageyama a final glance. He felt a strange urge to wake the man up, to make a noise as he left the building. This was his last companion. After he stepped through those doors, he would be alone.

His lower lip trembled for a moment, but when Renzo left the sword-polisher's shop he did not make a single sound.

Glossary 

**tatami**_- _straw mats edged in cloth, usually black; measures about 3 feet by 6 feet

**_A/N_****: **Thanks to all of you who reviewed -- it feels so wonderful to know that people are reading this and seem to be enjoying what they read... that's what we all write for. ^_^ It's also nice to know that people seem to be willing to tackle a longer story, as longer stories (most of mine, at least!) have a tendency to be less packed in terms of action at points. I'm kind of struggling to get the story rolling here--hence the longer chapters, I'm so sorry!--but once it does, there'll be a lot in terms of fighting and drama. The fifth chapter should have the first sword-fighting scene! Hurray! 

Furthermore, if anyone notes any mistakes in terms of both culture and storyline, don't be afraid to e-mail me. I'm not inhuman, I'll make research mistakes. Furthermore, I'd love hearing from Japan- or Samura-buffs. ^_~

And please do try and read the rest of the Blade of the Immortal fanfiction out there, if you haven't already. Despite the meager-tiny amount, there's still a lot of _great_ stuff out there (Being the evil person that I am, I've read but not reviewed... maybe writing that out will get me on the ball). _Bath Time_ is cute, as is _Stars and Fires_ and the newest O-Ren story... and I _adored_ both Makie pieces out there, although I'm quite bitter that someone else wrote the Makie/Anotsu pieces before I got the chance. =P Luckily, they're both amazing writers and they did the tale great justice -- be _sure_ to read them!

And, as always, I hope you enjoyed and continue to enjoy. I'll stop being all long-winded like now.


	4. Looking Back on a Vengeance-Path

Spoilers: _Heart of Darkness_ (issues 35-42), _The Gathering_ (issues 43-49) 

**Recommended Reading: **_Heart of Darkness_ and _The Gathering_ are good ideas, naturally. Having a background in this part of Samura's storyline is really useful in making sense of some of this chapter, although it again could still stand on its own. I also used _Dark Shadows_ as a reference when writing this. Hee. If you can pick out what I tied in, I'll give you... erm... something? ^^

_" Tomorrow's just an excuse away _

_So I pull my collar up and face the cold_

_...On my own."_

--The Smashing Pumpkins

When Dreaming Ends

Part Four -- Looking Back on a Vengeance-Path

Renzo awoke from a fitful sleep to find himself slumped in the back corner of an alleyway. He was quite a distance from the sword-polisher's shop, although he didn't quite remember how far. It had been a strange, almost dream-like night... but when he found himself looking across the alley that morning, he realized that he was sitting in a harsh reality. There was no blurring here.

He was sitting against the wall with the sword in the crook of his shoulder and a small pack at his side that he had made from the wrapping cloth that the weapon was in. After a moment of rousing he pulled it over his shoulders and eased himself to his feet. He fiddled with the cord that was wrapped around the hilt of his stolen sword, and slung that over his back as well.

Renzo had spent a long time thinking before he finally drifted off to sleep the night before. Hence, this time he walked with a path in mind. He knew what he was looking for. It was only a matter of finding the right trail. Renzo had no idea where Asano Rin and her companion were heading, but there were ways of finding out.

After all, they were wanted murderers.

-        -        -

It took a lot of questioning and wandering, but eventually Renzo found himself standing in front of the office of the district _metsuke_. The building was plain and unimposing, and even the lower-ranking city watchmen who rested outside with their long-pole lanterns after shift seemed bleak and unthreatening. However, despite this, Renzo felt a tightness in his stomach at the sight of the place.

He did not act on it, however, as he strode up to the front step with his chin high. One of the watchmen gave him a glance as Renzo was slipping out of his sandals, and then cast on a crooked smile.

"You aren't just going to waltz in there, are you kid? The _metsuke_ is a very busy man." The man lacked the refined accent of a higher-ranked worker, and thus sounded quite brash. He was scrawny and a little stooped, almost insect-like in appearance. Homely.

Renzo's knotted stomach twined at the realization that he was being spoken to, but with that came a bout of stubborn defensiveness. He raised his head a little higher, and said with almost haughty pointed-ness, "I have some information on the pair that killed those travelers, _old man_, and I am going to give it to the inspector."

The man chewed on the end of his pipe and glared idly at Renzo from beneath the rim of his hat. "You should watch how you talk to your elders, boy -- pull that with Inspector Tsuruta and you'll probably be walking out without a tongue."

"Or a head." Another man said.

The first officer leaned back. "What have you got?"

Renzo tightened his lips defiantly. Something brash and cocky rose into his throat, but he remembered an encounter that he once had with an irritable _samurai_ and found himself holding back. If refusing to apologize for a stupid broken sandal had been grounds for Renzo to have his life in danger, he didn't even want to _think_ about where he would end up for snapping at an officer who was just getting off a long shift. He hated the proud bastards, yes, but he didn't have time to fool around.

"If you'll excuse me," Renzo said. "I have important information and would like to have an audience with the _metsuke_. I do not want to keep you on duty any longer. Good day."

It reminded him of Rin, how he smoothed his words down to avoid another man's temper. He hated himself for it, and yet could not deny the fact that the subtle method had worked before. However, this time he only got a few steps toward the door before the officer grabbed his arm and jerked him back a step.

"Hey!" 

"You can't just walk in there," the watchman said. "Tsuruta is a very busy man. People just can't step in like they own the place, ya know."

"I need to talk to him." Renzo said. His irritation was starting to shine through, and the watchman took note of this with a narrowing of his eyes. 

"You'll have to get an appointment. If you want to save time, talk to us."

"You're just lap dogs." Renzo retorted. "I need to talk to a _real_ officer who _knows_ things. If _you_ want to save time, then maybe you should go and _fetch_ him."

There went Asano Rin's polite strategy. 

There was a snap as the man clacked his lantern pole downward in order to rise sharply into an upright position. The other men, letting out a small chorus of grumbles and short retorts seemed to follow suit, and Renzo... half glory-fed by the response that he was getting and half terrified, made a quick motion toward the sliding door that led to the _metsuke's _quarters. 

The skinny watchman by the door was less gentle this time. Forcefully he took Renzo's arm again and jerked him back. Renzo let out a belt, and he was clipped firmly behind one ear. It hurt terribly, but Renzo felt anger more than pain. Forcefully, almost spastically, he jerked loose and forced himself back toward the door again.

"He's making an attack on the _metsuke_!" 

He felt more hands clap down onto him, and almost fell on his face as a number of men pulled him back. A few people passing by on the street stopped and stared.

"_Attack?!_ You crazy old dog! What are you _talking_ about?!" Renzo struggled and kicked, and winced as he was struck on the back with one of the lantern poles. He yelled out then, half to relieve pain and half in desperate panic. "Hey! Hey! Help! Inspector! I need to...!!" Another pull jerked him onto his belly, and his words were cut off as he hit the ground belly first. Furious and frantic, he pulled one of his sandals off the stepping-stone and threw it at the door. 

As the shoe snapped against the wooden panels and tore a square of rice paper, Renzo was distracted by the sound of a sword leaving its sheath. With a surge of panic he realized that a few of these men must have been armed. All of his blood rushed to his feet as he felt two pairs of hands holding his shoulders down like a wild animal being prepared for slaughter. His mouth pressed into the dirty street, and he inhaled a lungful of dust in his sudden realization.

And then there was a loud _clack_, and the commotion was severed into a corpselike halt. Renzo painfully eased his head up, but could only crane his neck up far enough to see the wide and skirt-like bottom of a pair of _hakama_, and the clean split-toed stocking feet that poked out just beneath. Someone was standing firmly on the front step of the _metsuke_'s office.

Renzo couldn't see his face or hands, but the man must have signaled for the watchmen to release their hold. Renzo's shoulders were finally freed, and he felt a cool air of relief as everyone took a step away from him. Indignant, he tugged his collar back in place and roughly dusted off his arm, glaring over his shoulder at a number of blank and bashful faces. However, the boy's smug look faded as he realized that the _metsuke_ was staring intently--and quite unhappily--down at him.

He swallowed painfully over the large lump in his throat. The _metsuke_ wasn't as big as Renzo would have pictured him, but there was something in that neatly-lined face and those dark eyes that radiated power and intelligence. It took a lot of both to be an effective chief-of-police, and this man had the aura of a great leader. His garments were perfectly pressed and his hair neatly oiled... even when just standing there he looked strong and imposing. 

"...You broke my _shoji_." He said simply.

"I-I... I'm sorry." Renzo said. He was too stunned to bow or offer any other sort of humble response. His bottom was still sprawled on the ground, and the hand that had been rubbing his shoulder clung tensely there.

"...I expect you to repair it immediately." And then the _metsuke_ was signaling for the watchmen to depart with a flick of his finger and turning around to return to his quarters.

Renzo blinked.

_That... that's it?!_

 "Hey!" He cried. He could feel a few of the watchmen cringe, heard a chuckle or two, and then watched the _metsuke's _shoulders twitch and stiffen at the sound. Renzo, already snowballing, could only continue. "I need to know about those murders! The two travelers! You've gotta tell me what happened!"

The _metsuke_ looked over one shoulder. A thick eyebrow had risen with an emotion that Renzo could not read. Perhaps it was irritation. Perhaps it was surprise. He did not know, and found it impossible to tell. He didn't say anything, and Renzo felt his heart snare.

"I-I... they...I...my father..." He stammered. "They...murdered my father...and...I've gotta...f-find...find them...they..."

"These are dangerous people. A boy your age should not burden himself with this sort of task when there are swordsmen who are more capable around to execute the matter more safely." The man's voice was as smooth and monotone as the steel across the top of a blade. 

"I'm not a kid! I can take care of myself, and I can take care of them!" Renzo snapped. Again, the _metsuke_ blinked a little. "I'm not going to let some stranger kill the people who killed my father before I do! And I can do it! I almost did it before!"

"But you didn't." The _metsuke_ said.

"I'm older now." Renzo replied coldly.

The _metsuke_ eyed him for a moment, as if he were sizing him up. From behind, he knew that the small crowd and the rest of the watchmen were watching him as well. Renzo felt very self-conscious, but kept his face firm and steady. 

Eventually, the _metsuke_ spoke. "Do you have a permit to extract revenge on these people?"

Renzo narrowed his eyes, avoiding the trap. "I don't need one. They're wanted criminals."

The _metsuke _knew this. The boy was treading a dangerous path, and an attitude like the one that Renzo was displaying wouldn't get him far, much less anywhere near the pair that killed those travelers. Worst-off, if he _did _manage to get that far... he wouldn't last a heartbeat against any swordsman, much less a skilled one. However, there was no stopping fate. The boy's path was set. How saddening.

"Two medicine sellers were slain on the main road to Kaga. A young _geisha_ was also mutilated there. As of now, we're not sure if she will pull through." He finally said. The boy's bold brown eyes shifted a little, and fell into a silence that was stronger than a moment without words... it was obvious that he clung to every sound. The _metsuke_ frowned for a moment, and then continued. "We also just recently discovered that two _kenshi _were killed in a street fight outside a public bath and inn in Shinjuku on the same day. A man who matches the killer's description was involved."

"And the _geisha_?" Renzo asked. His voice was almost analytical. 

He frowned, just slightly. It was more in the forehead than in the mouth, but present nonetheless. "What about her?" 

"Where is she?"  
  
"She is being nursed at a place called _yukimachi._" The _metsuke_ said the name of the pleasure-quarter distastefully, as he was of too high a rank to speak of such a place with anything but spite. 

Renzo nodded a little, and then sat there in silence for a while. The _metsuke_ said not a word, and patiently watched him. After a few moments Renzo's face fell, and then twisted a little. "...Hey... is that _all_? You're a _metsuke_! You should know more than just _that! _Come on! I could have picked all of that up from street gossip!"

The _metsuke_ crossed his arms over his chest. "This doesn't satisfy you?"

"You aren't hiding anything?"

The boy certainly didn't mince words. The _metsuke_ felt a smile tug at the inside of his mouth, even though he kept his lips in a tight line. "No. And if I were, you would have no way of finding anything out. Do not waste your breath."

"But--" The man raised a hand to silence him, and Renzo frumped into a frown.

"You know what we know. We'll see how both of us do in the end, yes?" The _metsuke_ shifted his head in a way that was the barest glimmer of a farewell, and rustled around to return to his quarters. This time, he was not stopped. "I will have one of my men deal with the _shoji_, as they have proven to be quite rude to you..." Something about his tone was ironic, and it was obvious that most of the insult was amusedly set against Renzo himself. "...and bear in mind that it would be wise to hone up on your swordsmanship before you set out to find these people. If you have trouble fighting off a few tired night watchmen, I would hate to see you battle a refined _kenshi_." And, before Renzo could push out a retort, "Good-day."

The boy blinked. It took him a long time to finally gain the mentality to peel himself off the ground. Everyone stared as he retreated.

-        -        -

When Renzo finally got on his way again, away from the eyes and the horrid atmosphere of the _metsuke_'s office, he had a basic plan in mind. He would interview the people around the place where that _kenshi_ had been killed on the street -- this was something that the _metsuke_ would have already done, but Renzo had no other avenue. Perhaps he would find the right people. Perhaps he would ask the right questions. Perhaps he would find a spark of luck.

Secondly, he would travel to _yukimachi_ and find the _geisha_ that had been attacked. He had no idea how she could help him, but perhaps she had overheard something about where they were traveling. The _metsuke _would have asked her the same thing, but there was no harm in trying for himself. What else could he do?

It was a long walk to Shinjuku, and as Renzo passed a number of vendors he felt his first pangs of hunger. However, he did not want to take the time to purchase anything. Even in his hurry he did not reach Shinjuku until mid-afternoon, and he tiredly looked up and down the streets until he found the bath-house that the _metsuke _had been talking about.

He walked around and called at the door. There was nothing, and he peeked in the windows of the buildings on that side of the street. Everything he saw was dark and empty, and he frustratedly moved from one opening to another.

Suddenly, as he was putting his face to a row of bamboo slats in a kitchen window, a scream broke out from inside and a tray clattered to the floor. The woman inside met his eyes and let out another huff, this one more angry than surprised, and then she was stepping forward to shake her finger at him and snap, "Will you people just stop _doing_ that?!"

Renzo blinked and stepped back from the window.

She was pretty in a strange sort of way, with thick eyebrows and a kerchief wrapped about her head. There was something defiant and raw about her, both in the ways that her eyes flashed and her hands were on her hips. "Don't you just run away! What do you think you are doing? Do you know how _rude_ that is, just poking your head into windows like that? You almost scared the wits out of me!"

"I-I..." Renzo stammered.

"Huh? Huh? Spit it out, kid!"

"I'm looking for someone..." Renzo started, unsure of quite what to say. 

"Obviously." The woman said flatly, before he could continue.

"He...he was out here. He killed a man in the street...he... he's the man that murdered my father." Renzo said. This was the second time that he had spoken those words that day -- and just then did he realize it. His throat constricted and began to choke up... how could his father's death have become nothing more than a few dry facts, an excuse...so empty...?

The woman was silent for a moment, staring at him from beneath those bushy brows. And then, without warning, she threw her head back and started to laugh. 

Laugh.

"Hey!" Renzo said irritably, choking on the word a little in aftermath of his sudden surge of melancholy. "What the hell?"

The woman was unable to speak, but she waved her hand around on her wrist at him a little, as if signaling for him to stay put a moment. And then, almost buckling over, she walked out of view. Her chortles rang in the small cooking space, and Renzo was staring shockedly into it when he heard a sliding door clack open to his left. 

Still chuckling a little, the woman motioned for him to come inside.

She wouldn't talk to him as she bemusedly poured him some tea, and only when she set the cup at his stiff and furious side did she mutter an apology with a hand over her mouth. Renzo glared silently at her, but when she lifted her fingers away he saw that her laughter had been more ironic than amused, and there was a dark, sad little tint to her lips. 

"There must be a shortage of fathers in this world, the way that things are going," she said, smiling in that same way. With a tired slump she sank down onto the seat next to him, and put her hands at her sides. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Renzo asked indignantly.

"I've just had a strange couple of days, that's all." She answered. "I'm sorry." Renzo didn't reply to this, and she tiredly rubbed between her eyes with her first two fingers. It took a while for her to continue. "You were talking about that swordfight -- yeah, I saw it."

"What happened?" Renzo asked. 

The woman leaned back and crooked an eyebrow at him. For a moment it seemed as if she wasn't going to answer, but she finally sighed at the result of some inner musing and spoke, "Some guy was waltzing around and causing ruckus out in the street... calling himself someone-or-other of the Itto-Ryu. Those bastards are always out getting into trouble, I wasn't surprised." 

She noted that Renzo had made no motion toward the tea that she had poured for him. Renzo thought that she was going to mention it again, but rather she simply took it and sipped from the cup herself, a rather informal--if not rude--gesture. Her personality and demeanor made the act almost casual, however, and thus was in it's own way endearing. There was something comfortable about her lack of modesty and self-consciousness.

"Yeah, so..." She continued. "The guy struts around like an alpha horse in its prime, makes a few sharp comments, and then is promptly slaughtered by the man that he was insulting."

"The killer?"

"Huh?"

"The man on the poster," Renzo elaborated. "Was that the wanted man on the poster, the one who killed him?"

"No." The woman continued. "He came up after the fight was over, looked over the body a little. Talked to the winner of the fight, I guess. I dunno, really. I was going to go back inside and get back to work since the excitement was over, but then the guy who killed Mr. Itto-Ryu suddenly went and attacked the guy that you're talking about... it was amazing. This scarface guy's back was turned, and yet he managed to easily get around and kill the other man in one blow. It's scary -- to think that a swordsman like that was staying right upstairs!"

The story was a little confusing, but Renzo got the gist of it. Furthermore, it was the woman's last statement that really caught his attention. Wide-eyed, he leaned forward. "Upstairs? _Him_?"

"Yup. Him and a bunch of other weirdos." She shrugged. "But I shouldn't complain. They didn't bug me much." For a moment the woman pushed at her sleeves.

"Are they still...?"

She shook her head. "They left days ago. Sorry." And, before he could ask, "No. I don't know where they went."

Renzo looked at her for a moment, let out a deep breath, and hung his head.

The woman watched him with somewhat twisted lips, and it looked as if there was something that she wanted to say for a moment. The kid was obviously planning on treading dangerous ground. The girl called Rin who she had spoken to only a few days earlier came to mind, but she chose not to mention her. Asano Rin wasn't her problem. This kid wasn't her problem. 

And yet... "Look," she said. Renzo looked up at her with his miserable eyes, and she put on a little smile in response. "I'm going to make you up something to take on the road with you. On the house -- how's that sound?"

Renzo rubbed a bare toe on the ground and cast his eyes off to one side. He seemed almost dwarfed by the sword that was thrown across his back, even though he was essentially tall enough to pass as a young man now. "I don't want anything."

"Hmph." She said through her nose. There was a clatter behind him as she removed the lid from a steamer of rice. "Where are you headed next?"

"_Yukimachi_."

"Heh. I wasn't talking about your personal 'excursions,' kid. Honestly, you look too young to be addicted to _that_ sort of stuff."

Renzo glared at her. "There's someone there who can help me."

"Oh," She said, putting a little roll in her voice and eyes. "To _help_ you. Is that how you put it these days?" And, knowing that he wasn't going to take her very lightly, she continued in a more serious tone of voice. "I hope you find what you're looking for, then. It may be tough for a kid your age to get inside."

"I'll find a way."

"Uh-huh." There was a clatter, and Renzo looked up to see her holding a rectangular wooden box out in front of him. He stared at it intensely for a moment, and then turned those eyes defiantly up into her own. "I don't want your pity."

A corner of the woman's lips crooked upward in a dry smile. 

"Trust me, kiddo. With a quest like yours... you're going to need it."

**Glossary**

_metsuke-_ chief of police, inspector

_geisha-_ literally, 'artisan'; skilled entertainers-for-hire, not to be confused with prostitutes

_Shinjuku- _a district in Edo

_yukimachi- _a brothel in Edo

_kenshi-_ a wandering swordsman


	5. A Wiltering Flower

**Spoilers: **Spoilers: _Heart of Darkness_ (issues 35-42), _The Gathering_ (issues 43-49)

_"Everything about me is a lie_

_At least it feels that way_

_When I look in your eyes now_

_The truth scares the shit out of me_

_Whoever said love is blind or love is real_

_Has never felt the way that I feel_

_What does it matter?_

_What's done is done and I should_

_Get on with my life_

_Why are you haunting me?"_

--Stabbing Westward

When Dreaming Ends

Part Five -- A Wiltering Flower

She was so beautiful.

It was awkward, the way she had to bend her wrist and arm in order to light the pipe that was hanging unfemininely from her lips. A woman smoking was always elegant in doing so, but no one saw the less graceful side of this act. No one saw this act at all. The woman was alone. 

She inhaled before the flame fully snuffed, and let the sweet smoke fill her lungs and numb her body from the inside out. So hollow. She was always so hollow. The waxed crests of her up-done hair fell slackly against the wall, and she lolled her head off to one side with a lazy shift. Long, lovely pale fingers eased the pipe from her lips, and she let the smoke escape with a slight slacking of her jaw.

_Yukimachi_ was as busy as a low-ranking whorehouse should be. Night had fallen a few hours ago, and she had just finished up with her first customer of the night, a man who had come to see her a great number of times in the last few weeks. In a short while she would entertain at a drinking party in one of the main rooms. For now, however, she rested. She let another part of her wilter away and die.

Up in smoke.

Across the hall she could see the hazy yellow glow of a cracked open _shoji_ door. There was a small strip of bedding against the floor matting. The woman could not anything more than this, but she knew already that the person resting there was a _geisha_ called O-Sen. She had lost a leg in an unfortunate _accident_. Her career was over. Now she was in _Yukimachi_. Now her life was over. If she lived through this, she would be nothing more than a cheap lay for a desperate traveler or pervert. 

Otono-Tachibana Makie lifted her pipe to her lips again and inhaled. Her mind shifted, dulled, and misted over. In her leisure she did not rest as any lady should -- her legs were open and flat, her back against the wall, and her figure slack. A rag doll. A corpse. Useless.

From another room came the sound of chatter and brazen laughter. Men were getting drunk and women were getting undressed. People were letting go of everyday formalities. Young girls were letting go of their pride and humanity. The song-like chant of a drinking game droned on, and a girl who just barely knew the _shamisen was plucking at the strings in painful melody. No one cared. Culture didn't matter within these walls. If men wanted culture, they would find _geisha_._

"Wake up," Makie said to the ceiling in a raspy sing-song whisper. "Wake up and see if this is what you're dreaming about."

Makie had forgotten just what it was to dream. Her youth had been a barren and cold one, filled with trauma and betrayal... and, to a degree, she grew up never knowing what she was missing. Deep down in her heart she had locked away her desire to lead a normal life, and all it was to her now was a constant cold stone, locked tight and icy in her chest... always throbbing, but what was a throb that you never remembered not having? This cold, it was as natural as a heartbeat. 

When Anotsu Kagehisa of the Itto-Ryu came back into her life, a part of that chilled stone started to twist toward the surface. He was a symbol of her childhood, a chance for her freedom... a man who had come to save her from her life of prostitution, a hero! She loved him then, as part of her still loved him now... not so much because of who he was, but rather because of what he could become to her. Anostu, like her, was _kenshi_. He would not mind her dishonored past. He could give her something that she never had -- a life. A family. The closest thing to normality that a woman like Otachi-Tachibana Makie could get.

But Anotsu did not love her.

It was her swordsmanship that drew him. To him, she was a symbol of power, a weapon better than any of his swords. And, when Makie realized that, she knew that he would never give her what her heart desired. Her dreams would be just that. Fantasy. Something to jab. Something to hurt. A stone in her heart. 

She was so much like him, and yet she was so different.

Makie hated herself for what she was. She hated the anger that had fueled her parries, her blows. She hated the pumping of vengeance in her veins as she practiced with her pike as a child, the feel of a powerful weapon in her hands. She hated being wrapped around death. She had been wrapped around death for too long.  
  
Makie left Anotsu, left the geisha-house that he had put her in, and moved back to her low-class lifestyle. Now, she was a common prostitute. Again. The phantom of a man's body still sank into her inner thighs from earlier that night, and no matter how long or hard she scrubbed, that sensation always remained. 

The _Yukimachi was a place that frequently housed members of the Itto-Ryu. Although Makie wished to clear herself from such things, she knew that Anotsu himself would never visit this place. Besides, no whore-house was immune to the scum of society. No matter where she went, the stink would remain. She would never be free of it._

"O-Anrui?"

The voice filtered weakly through the cracked-open shoji. The owner of the house, upon looking at her, had given her the name -- Silent Tears. Makie didn't much appreciate it, but her eyes, her face, her being... Everything about her was solemn and sad. In a low-class whorehouse, this didn't go well with customers, but Makie's beauty made up for it... she resembled a high-class courtesan, fickle and brooding, which made loins stir and purses empty. People came to _Yukimachi_, and they could, for a price, pretend that they were at a much more classy establishment.  
  
"...Anrui-san...?" O-Sen, the crippled girl, had a voice as still and pathetic as she was. The girl was bedridden, unable to move... the pain was so great, the wounds so tender, that she could only lie on her back and wonder if, perhaps, death would not have been a better fate.

Makie often lied in her own bed and wondered the same thing. But why bother with death, if you weren't even really living in the first place?

Makie, in no rush, drew in another lingering inhale on her pipe. She held the smoke in her lungs, closed her eyes, and tiredly blew it up, up... past her head, toward the ceiling, spiraling away to where dreams exist, teasingly out of reach.

-           -           -           -

Night had fallen again by the time Renzo had found _Yukimachi. It was still relatively early, and yet a small line had formed at the gates. Inside, music and laughter clashed together in a strange sort of sync, something both alluring and repelling in the same beat. Every sound was distilled by the harsh tang of spilled wine._

Quite a few men were in obscuring hats and cloaks with their heads kept low, as it was dishonorable to be seen in a place like this one. They handed in their weapons and other belongings at the front, and Renzo craned his neck to look at the man who was checking them in. He was large and burly -- obviously a man who could toss a few troublemakers into the streets (broken in pieces, usually!) without much of a problem. Renzo swallowed back worriedly, and looked from side to side as he waited his turn. He felt very exposed and out of place.

And then the guard was looking down at him. An eyebrow was raised, and Renzo suddenly was aware of how scrawny and small he was. He could sense the man's gaze on his frame, and then on the sword and parcel at his back.

"Do you know where you are, kid?"

Renzo felt some of his apprehension dissipate into a glare. He was surprised to see the vaguest flicker of a smile break onto the man's strong face in response to this -- it was instantaneous, and although amused it was also a bit impressed. Somewhat. After all, this was a man of business. He didn't have time for such notions.  
  
"Look, kiddo, I can't just let you in here, unless you're entertaining." A joke, accompanied by an obvious wink. _Yukimachi_ didn't really specialize in boys, although it was true that Renzo would have had better luck trying to sell himself into the brothel than he would trying to simply walk in like a common man.

However, he had a few tricks up his sleeve.

Or, rather, he had a purse.

The small parcel, filled with a coil of _mon, was all of the money that he had. Renzo did not think about the future. It was the moment that mattered right now. He could manage keeping himself alive, yes, but it would do no good if he had to spend that time wandering. This money -- hardly enough to buy a few meals, anyway -- would best be sent getting him on the right path._

"I need to get inside," Renzo said flatly, keeping his brown eyes level with the guard's own. It was almost humorous -- the boy stood shorter than he, and lacked almost all of his girth. His hand remained on the purse as if it were of great worth. "There is someone that I wish to speak to. I can keep my head low, I can avoid getting in anyone's way. I just need a few minutes."

The guard listened, although his eyebrow remained high and taut. His amusement seemed to teeter toward annoyance, and Renzo, so Adult and Calm in his words, felt himself falter a bit. His hand shook a little as he hastily pulled it off the purse, leaving it on the counter. 

"Give me your sword." The guard said.

Renzo, shocked that the man was consenting, blinked rapidly and handed over the sword that the had slung over his shoulder. He didn't realize that, as a boy, he was as harmless and not worth fretting over. He wasn't going to give the girls any trouble, and he wasn't going to participate in any activities, even if he wanted to. He would be laughed out of any gathering. If anything, he'd be free entertainment. A good laugh.

"Three-quarters of an hour," the guard said. "If you aren't back out here before then, I'm keeping this." He tapped the sword and gave him a wooden identification card in its place. Renzo took this equally seriously, although the guard forgot about him as soon as he had passed, as their small conversation had held up the line. 

When he passed freely through the gate, a wave of relief left him light and airy. However, that was quickly replaced by a new anxiety -- he had gotten into _Yukimachi, but that was only the start of it. He had to find the wounded geisha, and he had to do it quickly. A few men, obscured by raincloaks and rented clothes, scoffed or laughed openly when they brushed by him. He could feel people watching him, and he hastily shifted his pack--the guard hadn't questioned him on it--and tugged at his collar, before walking across the small yard to the building._

Inside, it was a little less crowded, but much louder. The entryway led into a few corridors, all lined with rooms filled with noisy, vulgar parties. The _tatami were old and frayed and the _shoji_ was low-quality, but none of the men around him paid attention to that. They were escorted, by maids, into a waiting room._

No one paid attention to Renzo for a long time. It was only when he started walking towards a hallway when he was stopped -- a middle-aged woman, the lines in her face accented by the make-up that was supposed to be hiding it, stepped in his way. "Why, hello! What rich father are you blessed with?" She chuckled behind a sleeve in a cute fashion, behaving much too youthfully for her age. She knew that this was no customer, but that made teasing all the more fun. "What would you like, then? Asame, the playful kitten? Butterfly, the endurant? A youthful, innocent beauty, or a seasoned lover?"

"I'm looking for a cripple." Renzo said.

-           -           -           -

"Shh, shh," Makie whispered warmly. When she entered O-Sen's room, she had undergone a shift -- although her eyes were still deep and solemn, she had taken an almost motherly air. With tenderness, she shifted the bedding around the girl's frame, being careful of the wrapped stump that was her leg. Tenderly, and with a wan loving smile, she brushed a few strands of hair away from the woman's forehead. "It'll be alright, dear. Just try to relax. Don't let your muscles tense."

"Did you hear?" Someone said in the party that was going on in the room next door. "A sword polisher was killed earlier this afternoon. It seems he pissed off some tight-assed _samurai_..."

"_Samurai," another man said. "What a joke! They wear their swords and strut around like they're everything -- most of them have never been in a real fight in their life! They're holding on to a paper rope!"_

"Not this one," the first man said. "He's as touchy as a viper near a hot-poker. If a peasant so much as looks at him wrong, _ffffttt, he's done."_

"After the paperwork, of course!"

"Yup. Sign a few documents, and you're clear. If only getting away with everything else was that easy!" The fact that his voice was slurred became more evident here, and sure enough, Makie soon heard the clink of a _sake_ flask against a cup.

"I hear he's still angry! Looking for something, people say."

"Oh, heads will roll!"

"Do heads ever _not roll?"_

"Hush, now," one of the courtesans said. Her voice was high and chirpy, floating. "This is no place for such talk! In here, there is only wine and the carefree." 

O-Sen was very beautiful. The haggardness of her suffering seemed to enhance that, but no drama could change the state of her leg. If the infection healed and she lived, she would be nothing but a cripple -- without family, without employment, an outcast. Perhaps the _Yukimachi_ would continue to take her in (Makie had a feeling that Anotsu Kagehisa was part of the reason why she was here in the first place), but she would be nothing but a whore to the men who couldn't afford to lay with anything else. Those men would be dirty, cruel, and vicious. O-Sen, on top of that, was used to _geisha-hood. She was cultured and well-spoken, a woman that had sold her talents rather than her body. To change over... Oh, there was no good luck on the road ahead. Makie had a good reason to pity this woman. Her problems made Makie's life seem a little less troublesome, although Makie knew that they were both essentially in the same boat. They were floundering in something that they could never change.  
  
Makie was holding a cup of warm tea to the woman's lips when Hana, the maid, came to the open door. "Mistress?" She was, being but a youth, dressed simply in a plain-patterned kimono.  "The Lady O-Sen's Honorable Younger Brother is here."_

Both Makie and O-Sen's eyes narrowed in curiosity, although Makie was really the only one who could properly turn her head and see who Hana was talking about. Standing in the doorway was a young man -- more a boy than a man, really, although the look on his face seemed to hold something that no child should. His chest, partially exposed under the looseness of his kimono, was hairless and leanly muscled, bony in places. His shaggy hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, and, if he cleaned up a bit, he could probably come off as a rather lovely youth.

"That's all I'll need," Renzo said.

Hana placed her hands neatly on her thighs, fingertips touching, palms down, and she bowed to him. She would have otherwise been obliged to serve him something, to settle him in properly... but this was a place of business, and Renzo was not a part of that. She was glad to be relieved, and did not argue to stay.

Renzo stepped into the room. His bow was hastened. For a moment, his heartbeat had quickened. That woman, caring for the one he now knew to be called O-Sen. She was so... what was it about her? Beautiful, yes, that was obvious, but there was something deeper than that. When he looked into her eyes, it was like he was walking into a tunnel that had no beginning and no end.

And, most importantly, she looked like she didn't belong here. Her kimono, although finer than anything that he'd ever seen, was just as low-rate as the rest of them here. But her features were perfect, like they came from the pages of a book of woodblock prints, an artists fabled fantasy. Makie's face had no lines, no marks. Her flesh seemed to be carved of ivory, flawless. If he touched her, would she be as cold as a statue? As cold as her eyes?

_No, not cold. Sad. Almost... empty. And yet, more full than any normal eyes should be at the exact same time. _

_Stunning._

Renzo shook his thoughts from his head. 

"I didn't know that you had a brother," Makie said to O-Sen, although her eyes remained on the boy, unreadable.

"I don't."

"I'm sorry," Renzo said. "I just needed an excuse to get to you, I didn't want to waste time down there. Look--" For a moment he turned his eyes back up to Makie. She knew that he was questioning her presence, perhaps questioning himself for speaking in it. It was obvious that he had something very private to say. This was no causal, social visit.

"Excuse me," Makie said graciously. With willowy grace she lowered herself in a demure, alluring bow -- the painted nape of her neck was deliciously exposed, and yet there was something much more noble about it. This was no common whore, Renzo found himself thinking again. This was no common _anything_. 

Oh, the way her eyes looked at him, when she lifted her head. And, with a perfect roll, she rose to her feet in a rustle of fabric and floated elegantly across the room. The elaborateness of her kimono was enhanced by her straight stature, and Renzo watched the arrangements of crimsons and golds rustle by him in a waft of sandalwood perfume. With a jangle of hair-ornaments she bowed to him again, elegantly tipping her ornate head just slightly to one side. She slid the _shoji to a close with a muffled _clack_, and then Renzo and O-Sen were alone._

Makie was curious, but not to any great degree. There were plenty of strange affairs in the Willow World, and this was probably just one of them. There were more important things to worry about -- particularly, the time. In a short while, the owner of the house would come upstairs to look for her. Her life in the underworld would continue.

She leaned against the wall that she had been sitting by before, and sank back down onto her bottom, a sharp contrast to the formality that she had shown only moments earlier. Noncommittally, she picked up her pipe from its holder. Makie brought it to her lips, and relished a few more moments of detachment with a long, deep drag.

-           -           -           -

Renzo didn't mince words. He didn't know much about formality, and even if he did, he wasn't one to use it often. "My name is Kawakami Renzo," he said. "I am seeking to avenge my father's death. I have reason to believe the same man who did this to you was the one who killed my father."

O-Sen shifted her head off to one side to look at him. Her neck had gotten thin and sinewy, and her yellow-flecked eyes sunk into a deathly pale face. Her bony fingers opened and closed against her bedding, the barest glimmer of an acknowledgement. The unreadable smile on her face was so weak that it was almost hard to see in the first place. She seemed tired and unfazed by his presence and his quest. Something inside of her had grown immune to surprises. Or, perhaps, she no longer cared about such things.

Renzo saw this sadness, this aura of death in a living body. For a moment, he chided himself for being so uncaring. This was a victim, just as much as he. That brute, that monster... he had done this to her, as if she had no value as a human being. Renzo himself should not simply consider her another _go_ piece in his game of vengeance.

A little more patient now, he knelt by her side. The tea that Makie had set aside on a low table came to his attention, and he offered her some. When she had had enough, she smiled graciously -- and yet emotionlessly -- and said, "I understand what it is to loose someone dear to me," Her voice sounded as exhausted as she looked, there was a weakness in it that almost went below the grave. She spoke very slowly. "Ask me whatever you wish, I will help you as best as I can."

"Tell me about the man who attacked you." Renzo said.  
  
"I was asked to pose as a man named Anotsu Kagehisa. He hired me and a number of other women to travel in his stead, hoping to divert attackers. The man who.." She took in a deep breath. "...who came upon me that day, he was one of those seeking him."

"Was there a girl with him?"

O-Sen wet her lips. The day was fuzzy in her memory, the first part of the attack because of her shock, and the second half because unconsciousness had slowly taken her. However, she did remember a girl. "Yes."

Renzo felt his heart race. "They attacked you because they thought you were this man?"

"Yes. They seek to find him -- many people do, really. That is why I was hired to distract them so that he could go on his way safely."

"Anotsu Kagehisa?" 

Makie, who was only half-listening outside, twitched sat bolt upright at Renzo's bold declaration of her past-lover's name. Eyes wide, she stared ahead glazedly for a moment, as if she had just been smacked across the head by an unseen hand. Her pipe clattered silently into her lap, and ash sprayed out from it like blood from a victim of the blade.

"Yes," O-Sen said. Already, her voice was tiring. She hadn't spoken much since the accident, and any use of energy took toll on her health quickly. "He told us to tell everything, if... if we were... hurt." She coughed a little, and with a rustle her shoulder shifted. Renzo moved to help adjust her.

"Here, let me..."

"Thank you."

"Who is he?" Renzo asked. "This Anotsu guy."

Makie, unabashedly now, shifted and lolled around on her hands and knees. She crawled forward a few steps, and then slowly eased herself onto her feet to approach the shoji, which she knelt next to to listen better, with wide and unbelieving eyes. 

O-Sen breathed out a little chuckle, and then said. "The Itto-Ryu?" Something seemed weaker about her all of a sudden, but her tone said what her words could not -- few people were unaware of the name Anotsu Kagehisa, and _everyone knew about the Itto-Ryu. The fact that the boy seemed oblivious was humorous.   
  
Indeed, Renzo did not know much of the Itto-Ryu. However, with a flash he came to a realization. With a quiet, contemplative voice he said, almost to himself, "Rin, she..." _

_"Your dad," Renzo said. "He really got killed?"_

_"Yup," Rin had said to him, "By men of the Itto-Ryu."_

_"Itto-Ryu?__ What's that?"_

_"Huh? What? Come on. You _have_ to know that."_

His breath quickened to match the pace of his pulse. The Itto-Ryu! Anotsu Kagehisa! This was it! This was the key to everything! This is what he was looking for! 

"They are hunting down Anotsu Kagehisa," Renzo said. "That's how I can find them." Unable to contain the anxious excitement that was coursing through his body, he found himself leaning forward to ask intensely, "Do you know where he is heading?"

Makie too felt her breath catch in her chest, and she stared fixatedly at the wall as she too waited for the _geisha's_ reply. What was this, that was unfolding? The fact that young Rin was interwoven in this was not lost on the woman, and Makie felt her heart sink with dread. Whatever this boy's quest was, she had a feeling it would not bring good things. 

But then, of course, nothing did.

"Anrui!" A sharp voice called out from downstairs, and Makie did not realize that she was being called until the name had been shouted two more times, and when footsteps began pounding up the stairs. Tightening her lips, she looked at the _shoji that separated her from O-Sen's room, back over her shoulder, and then to the __shoji again. With a frown and a frustrated, pounding heart, she pulled at her robes and rose quickly to her feet. Rushing and anxious still, she went to meet up with her employer before the crone got all the way up the stairs._

"Kaga," O-Sen said. "He's going to Kaga."

"Kaga." Renzo repeated. And for a moment, he felt his first rush of genuine hope.

**Glossary:**

_Sake _– Japanese rice wine

_Shamisen__ – three-stringed lute_

**Note on Spoilers vs. AU: **At this point in the story I am going to begin to branch out into a more creative, personal idea of where I want things to go with the characters. Therefore, if you read anywhere beyond _The Gathering (issues 43-49) __  in the manga you may question what the hell is going on. ^_~ I may weave in events that happen later in the manga (especially from _Beasts _(issues 66-72))__ along with the fiction, and I'll just put a plain 'spoiler' warning down to show this.   
  
_

Confusing? Yeah, I think so too. It's really not that important, just covering my ass a bit. ^_~ This is meant to be read, not analyzed.

**A/N**: Finally, another chapter. It's a long one, hopefully someone actually got through it. The next chapter is going to be a huge chunk of action… yes, yes, I know, I promised action for _this_ chapter, but things kind of wrote themselves and pushed some stuff ahead a bit. For sure, though, fight-scenes Samura-style to come! 

And this, in many ways, ends the 'prologue' and starts the real story. =P Everything should really start moving from here. ^_^ Thanks again, everyone, for reading and leaving your comments – it's really great, seeing the feedback. Be sure to check out all of the other BoTI fanfics out there if you haven't already, there's some good stuff out there!  
  
  
*****spoilers ahead*** **There was also a comment in terms of timeline – I apologize, I'm working in and out of the manga quite a bit. This story takes place during the time when Anotsu Kagehisa is working to make the Itto-Ryu a real school within the Bafuku –Rin and Manji are currently separated, Magatsu is hunting Shira, and Makie is, long since, 'out of the picture.' In terms of time, then, this story _really isn't taking place that far away from Kawakami Araya's death – a few months, maybe, if not less. As long as it took for the events that happened between the graphic novels __Dark Shadows and __The Gathering II._


End file.
